


make me skin and bones

by stoleyouaway



Category: One Direction
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M, One Shot, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-13 02:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2134236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoleyouaway/pseuds/stoleyouaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of an insecure boy who fought until he bled for his right to love.</p>
<p>In which Louis burns, and Harry rescues him from the ashes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_This is the story of an insecure boy who fought until he bled for his right to love._

Louis hated the spotlight. It was too bright, too blinding, too exposing. It made him feel naked, like he was baring his body and soul to every pair of eyes that fell on him. When he was under the spotlight, he had to control himself. He couldn’t let his eyes stray or his fingers brush accidentally. There was so much more pressure to keep up the facade, to act like there _wasn’t_ any act. Some of the fans saw through it; but as long as he fooled the masses, it was considered a successful night. Until he remembered he had to wake up the next morning and repeat it.

Louis glanced briefly to his left as Liam wrapped up the chorus, cueing his verse. He took a deep breath and sang slowly, straining against the stress his voice always underwent during tour. His voice cracked and broke, but the crowd cheered at his biggest insecurity. Quiet songs with no band meant that he had nothing to hide behind, no drums or guitar to sink into if he lost his voice like he so often did. Time and again he had refused this solo, insisting he couldn’t do it, insisting he wasn’t good enough, but the other boys refused to take it. He still thought the lyrics would flow and move better if it were Harry singing them, or Zayn.

He was out of breath when he finished and also relieved. It was the moment that made him most anxious every show, and at least now that it was out of the way he could enjoy the rest. Harry’s soft, raspy voice enveloped him like a cozy woolen blanket, and a smile pulled at the corners of his face. He forced himself to look at the crowd, to wave and wink even if every nerve in his body urged him to turn toward Harry and watch him as he sang. It was so hard, the strain in his body between what he wanted and what he must do. But he faced the crowd and sang with a smile on his face and a heavy heart in his chest.

The night closed out sooner than they were expected, and finally Louis could escape the eyes and the cameras and get some much-needed sleep. It was their tenth week on the road, a show almost every night, and they were all already so exhausted they could barely do anything but rehearse, perform, and sleep. Zayn and Niall were chatting away as they boarded the bus, while Louis and the other two shuffled in behind them. He heard a shout from Niall that signaled that food had been brought for them. Louis passed them as they both filed into the dining booth on the way back to the bunks.

“Lou?” Niall asked around a mouthful of pizza. “Food?” He gestured with the slice in his hand.

Louis’ stomach had been rumbling for ages. “No thanks, not really that hungry tonight.”

Niall nodded, returning to his pizza, but Liam gave him a concerned look. He turned his back and pushed aside the curtain, falling bodily on his bunk. For a while Louis lay there and listened to the muffled conversations of the other boys, some revolving around him. Louis knew they were worried about him, and maybe they had a valid reason to, but he was fighting his own battle, and it wasn’t something they could help with.

He must have drifted off eventually, because he was woken a short time later by Harry. Blissful and still half-asleep, Louis reached up to him and grabbed blindly for his face. Harry chuckled and pushed his hands back down, giving Louis’ shoulder another playful shove.

“Lou, get up. You’ve gotta get changed and brush your teeth.”

Blearily, Louis apologized to Harry for his grabbiness and slipped out of the bunk past him to the bathroom. He shut the door quietly and then banged on it with his fist once, hard. He couldn’t believe he’d slipped up again, when he was trying so hard to be careful around Harry. The last thing he needed was one of the other boys to tattle on him to the tour manager, or worse, Simon. They’d all been charged with making sure he behaved himself, and kept his hands where they were supposed to be, at all times. Management had decided that the only way to nip the rumors in the bud was to invalidate them completely; Louis could not touch, look at, or talk to Harry, on camera or off, in public or not, unless it was necessary. The boys gave them a little leeway when it was the five of them alone, because even they had agreed that the boundaries set for them were ridiculous, but there was little they could really do to help. Their managers hadn’t even _asked_ Louis or Harry how they felt about each other, or about the rumors, or the situation. They didn’t _care_. All they wanted was for the gay rumors to stop, or at least decrease. And this was the only solution they could think of: separate Louis and Harry from each other completely. Cut them from each other’s lives as much as was possible considering they lived and worked together.

Harry used to be Louis’ best friend. Emphasis on _used_ to. Now, with everything going on to keep them apart, Louis barely considered him an acquaintance. He never even had a chance to discuss with Harry the whole setup with Taylor; it was over almost as suddenly as it had begun, and then his homewrecker reputation was kept up and Taylor would write a song about him and everyone was happy. Except that no one was, really. Just pawns in an endless game. Pretense for the sake of pretense.

Louis was spiraling, he knew, and it was slow and seemingly out of control. He wasn’t sure how he’d survive if he ever truly hit the bottom; he was falling from such a high pedestal. His fans and family held him in such high regard. If he were ever to fail them, where would he be then? One Direction was everything Louis had, everything he might ever have. So how could he _not_ go along with this, if it meant saving the band? How could he say _no_ to the lies and the deception, when it was the only thing holding their reputations together?

What Louis needed more than anything was to have a heart-to-heart with Harry. Maybe, _maybe_ , if they were on the same page, they could find a way to sort through the mess and patch together some sort of friendship. Anything that was not this standoffish, tense nothingness.

Louis never fathomed that maybe Harry would have feelings for him beyond that. He never allowed himself to. It was a road that led nowhere, and he knew that. They would never be _together_. Bandmates, especially two boys, could not end up together. Too many things would forbid it and get in the way of any chance they had. So he pushed his feelings into the darkest corner of his mind, locked them up tight, and refused to let them out no matter how much they begged or screamed to be set free.

Louis banged on the vanity countertop, willing it to break apart under his fists. It stayed intact, so Louis crumbled instead. White knuckles clutched at his hair as tears fell on his cheeks, and his chest shook with sobs. How could anything ever be okay again?

~~~~~

“Louis, have you been on Twitter today?”

Louis rolled over in his bunk, turning his back on Zayn. “I’m still asleep. Go away.”

Zayn scoffed. “Shove off. I can see the light from your phone.”

Louis shot Zayn a death-glare over his shoulder. “No, I haven’t,” he said, answering his first question. “Do I want to?”

“I don’t know, mate.” Zayn’s voice was gentle, and Louis knew that wasn’t a good sign. “The fans are worried about you. They said you looked really sick at the show last night.”

“I have a cold, it’s no big deal,” Louis replied flippantly.

“No, man, like _sick_ sick. Too skinny, and like you haven’t slept in days-”

“Because I _haven’t_!” exclaimed Louis, slapping his hands against the top of the bunk. Zayn stared at him, stunned. “Sorry,” he backtracked. “I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure that’s all, mate? You know you can always talk to me about what’s bothering you.”

“I’m sick of being babied. I can take care of myself. Honest,” he promised Zayn, who looked at him with sad eyes. Zayn nodded, turned down the hall, and slammed the door behind him.

Louis turned his face into the pillow, furious with himself for shutting out his best friend.

~~~

Louis awoke a few hours later to a knock on the wood of his bunk. “Lou?” He heard Niall’s timid voice and opened the curtain. “It’s getting late. Are you getting up anytime soon?” His blue eyes were filled with concern, and Louis could not look at them.

“Yeah, man, I’m just getting up now.”

“Okay.” Niall smiled widely. “We’re all playing FIFA in the back lounge, if you want to come join us.”

Louis hesitated, sighing slightly, before nodding. He couldn’t let another person down today. “Be right there.”

Louis changed into some sweatpants and a t-shirt before following Niall to the back lounge. He found Liam and Zayn sat next to each other on the loveseat, in an intense FIFA battle while Harry and Niall watched intently from the sofa. Louis sat on Niall’s other side carefully, pretending to watch the football match but in reality keeping his gaze locked on Harry.

He felt his pocket buzz, and reached in to find his phone. It glowed with the contact name “MM.” He gulped hard. This wouldn’t be good, whatever it was.

“Hello?” he answered it. He felt the other boys turn to look at him.

Louis listened, replying every so often with a half-hearted “okay” or “I understand.” By the time he hung up, his fingers were shaking so badly he could barely hit the ‘end’ button on the screen. He could not bare to look away from the now black screen.

“Louis,” Liam said quietly, the video game paused long ago. “Was it-”

But he didn’t have to ask. They all knew already.

“It’s . . . nothing,” Louis said, waving his hand in the air dismissively. “They just want me to do some PR with Eleanor tomorrow. It’s fine.”

Louis felt Niall’s hand in his shoulder, squeezing in a matter that he knew was meant to be comforting.

“I’m so sorry Louis,” Zayn spoke up. Their faces were all downcast. Things like this always felt heavy.

Louis stood abruptly, startling everyone in the room. “I’m going to take a walk.”

Louis barely got out the door before he heard someone following him. He turned, half hoping to encounter Harry, but it was Zayn instead, jogging to catch up with him. Louis paused, waiting, but Zayn stayed silent. Instead he gestured in front of them, and they walked together.

The bus was parked in a private carpark, and they were fairly secluded. Louis walked along, scuffing the pavement with his slippers, arms crossed over his chest. He couldn’t decide whether it was to keep others out or to keep himself in.

“Louis,” Zayn said finally. “Let it out. Whatever you’re feeling, tell me.”

Louis froze, rooted in place. He squinted at Zayn through the bright sun. “You wanna know what I’m feeling? I’m fucking fed up. I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be away from my family. I don’t want to be scrutinized for every little thing I do. I don’t want to be told how to live my life. I don’t want a fake girlfriend and I don’t want to put on a fake smile for people who don’t even know the real me and I don’t want to sing. Not if this is the price I’m forced to pay. Not if I have to keep living this way.” Louis stopped, sniffling. “I never asked for this,” he whispered.

Zayn wordlessly wrapped him in an embrace, and the harder he held on, the more Louis wanted to break down.

~~

The show was particularly hard for Louis the next night. He spent a whole day shopping with Eleanor, holding her hand and smiling at fans. He kept up the smile even when fans were berating him and insulting her, even when they praised him and called them “a beautiful couple.” It was only when he returned to the bus to head to the arena that he could finally strip off the facade for a few moments and catch his breath. During the show, his chest felt tight, and his throat squeezed every time he remembered she was sitting in the audience next to his mum, probably playing with his baby siblings and reveling in this life that didn’t belong to her. He was so preoccupied that he barely caught his cues, and sang off-key most of the night. Towards the end, he began to feel a little lightheaded, and had to run backstage during the last set to throw up. There was no escaping the spotlights, or the fans with cameras who would post his sickly form on every social media. He could be front page news by the morning, and it terrified him. Louis was disintegrating more and more with every passing minute, and the whole world was watching.

He collapsed on his bunk the second he could escape to the bus, firmly closing his curtain. That was usually a signal to the other boys that he didn’t want to be disturbed for any reason whatsoever, as a way of maintaining some privacy boundaries. Tonight, however, no one would leave Louis alone. Liam came to ask him if he wanted tea and Niall asked him if he was up for a round of FIFA. Harry even tried to speak with him for a moment, asking him if he was alright, but Louis turned his back on him. He then explained that he and the rest of the boys were going out for some drinks, and that Louis would have the bus to himself. Louis listened as the boys bustled around him, getting ready to go out, poking their heads into his bunk one by one to say goodnight.

Harry hung back; Louis heard him murmur something about needing to find his coat. Louis tensed as he heard footsteps near his bunk. Suddenly his curtains were thrown back and light flooded in. Louis squinted up at Harry. “What the fuck, mate?”

“I - Sorry,” Harry apologized, biting on his lip. “I just needed to see for myself that you were okay.”

Louis felt a lump forming in his throat. “Harry . . .”

“No, I get it,” Harry said, and Louis saw the wall he was building behind his eyes. “We shouldn’t be alone together. I’m just so . . . I’m worried for you. You just don’t seem yourself lately-”

“How would you know about my ‘self’?” Louis exclaimed, ripping the curtain back all the way and jumping down from the bunk. “You don’t really give a damn about me.” Louis was explosive; he was a firecracker bursting in Harry’s face.

Harry looked genuinely taken aback. “Louis, how could you say that? Of _course_ I give a damn about you. Where is this coming from?”

Louis could feel his anger burning in his face. He wasn’t sure at whom his rage was directed, but Harry was the nearest available target. “You’ve barely met my eyes in a year. We used to be best friends and now we barely speak. You used to,” Louis gasped, fighting through the tears in his eyes. “You used to love me. I used to love you. And now everything’s all fucked up.”

Harry reached out a hand that Louis pointedly ignored. “Louis--”

“Oi, Harry!” Niall shouted from outside the bus. “You coming or what?”

His green eyes filled with confliction and regret. Louis nodded toward the window. Go.

Harry took a deep breath, his shoulders slumped, a frown slanting his features. With a nod towards Louis, he turned and was gone.

Louis echoed the closing of the bus door with a punch to the plywood wall. “Fuck.” He leaned his head against it, cool on his forehead, and tried not to think about what he had just said.

A short time later Louis found himself lying back on the couch in the lounge, staring at the dark wood ceiling. He was too restless to sleep, constantly listening for sounds of the other boys returning. He held his arm up, letting the fluorescent light highlight his blue-black veins. He twisted it this way and that, watch as the tensing and relaxing of his muscles caused the veins to pop or lay flat. It fascinated Louis that such tiny vessels could carry his entire life force. It seemed impractical that such a vital substance be kept in something so weak, so easily ruptured . . .

Louis suddenly got an overwhelming urge, as quick as lightning, to see his veins burst and that crimson liquid run down his arm. The desire left a metallic taste in his mouth. As soon as it came, it was gone, but it left a pressure on Louis’ chest.

What he needed, Louis decided, was to forget. Forget the fight, forget Harry, forget the itch to put a razor to his skin -- forget everything. Even just for a little while. He walked to the refrigerator and opened the door, ignoring the gnawing feeling he felt in his stomach at the sight of the leftover pizza. Instead he reached for a beer, hand clasped around the bottle, before he thought better of it. Instead, he snatched the bottle of Jack Daniels from the counter, forgoing a glass in favor of drinking it straight up. He knew it was technically Niall’s, but he wasn’t in the mood to care. The silence and the whiskey chilled his bones. Louis basked for a while in the refrigerator light, feeling the burn in his throat every time he took a swig. The empty bus seemed to echo his dangerous thoughts back at him, and he drank to drown it out.

When Louis finished more than half the bottle and could barely stand, he stumbled to the bathroom and turned the knob on the bathtub, letting it fill with scalding water. Louis wanted to burn. Wanted to feel anything, really. He sank into the water still fully-dressed, completely unfazed by the temperature; it didn’t help. He had hoped, in his drunken state, that the water would scorch the memories of Harry from his mind. But Louis could still feel Harry on his skin, the texture of Harry’s hair on his fingertips, the soft fluttering of his eyelashes against Louis’ cheeks. The memories were closing in on Louis, and he began suffocating from them. When he could no longer breathe the air around him, Louis submerged himself under the water, eyes open, staring at the watery ceiling above. But he still could not quell the fire burning in his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Louis awoke with a start in his bunk, where he was spending most of his days and nights now. His curtain had been pulled back to reveal his four bandmates, staring down at him, concern brimming in their eyes.

“What the _fuck_ do you want now?” Louis pulled his pillow over his face with a huff. He was really sick of being woken up this way.

“We’re . . . “ Niall began, trepidation in his voice.

“We’re staging an intervention,” Liam finished awkwardly.

Louis moved the pillow away so he could stare at Liam incredulously. “An _intervention_?” He spat.

Liam turned sheepish and turned to Zayn. He cleared his throat, eyes flitting over Louis nervously. “We’re all very worried about your recent . . . behavior.”

“And that would _be_?”

“You’ve been sleeping a lot and eating very little. You never come out with us anymore; all you want to do is stay on the bus and sleep or drink. We think that you might be--”

“Might be what, Zayn?”

“Depressed,” Harry finished with finality.

Louis opened his mouth to reply with something snarky, but snapped it shut immediately, at a loss for words. He knew his behavior had been erratic and sometimes unhealthy lately, but he just chalked it up to stress and tension between the five of them (a large part of which he knew was mostly in his head). Usually he was the outgoing, sarcastic jokester, but lately he’s fallen flat. He thought maybe he’d just grown out of it, but now he was beginning to think it was something more sinister.

“Oh,” he uttered finally, just to break the silence.

“Do you think maybe you should . . . see someone about it?” Harry’s voice was timid, like walking on broken glass.

“I don’t need a _shrink_ , if that’s what you’re suggesting--”

“We’re not saying you have to, Louis,” Zayn interjected before he could finish. “We just want to make sure you have all the resources available that you need to get better.”

Louis knew his friends were just looking out for him, but he still felt this anger welling in him. “I’m not sick,” he insisted, jumping off the bunk and pushing past them. He didn’t get very far, however, when he felt thin arms wrap around his waist. Shocked, Louis brushed the familiar tattoos gently with his fingertips, relishing the other boy’s warmth. He felt Harry’s solid body pressing into his back, squeezing tightly, his hair tickling Louis’ ear. “Don’t do this,” he heard Harry whisper. “Don’t shut us out.”

Louis held on to Harry’s arms tightly for just a moment, before stepping forward, out of his embrace. His touch hurt too much. “I’m sorry,” Louis whispered, back still turned to Harry. “We can’t.”

Louis never felt the distance between them as much as in that moment.

~~~~~

The next few weeks passed mostly in tension and silence. Louis hardly spoke to his bandmates, instead spending most of his time in his bunk, on Twitter, trying to ignore his growling stomach. He was miserable, but he didn’t know how to make it better. The other boys tried, they really did, but they couldn’t reach him. Louis was in too deep.

His manager wouldn’t let him tweet anything personal, only business related, so Louis could only scroll silently through his timeline. He caught the best and worst about what people were saying about him - that they were concerned he was getting thin, or that they thought he was still too fat. No matter how many positive things he read, the negative comments wouldn’t leave him. All the support he got from the fans, from the “Cheer up, Louis!” tweets to the “Get well soon, Lou!” signs he saw them hold up during their shows, didn’t make a stitch of difference in his mind.

He heard the boys begin to stumble in the front door of the bus, drunken and merry from a night out. He was happy they’d enjoyed themselves, and was surprised to find a small smile cross his face. Just like that, it was gone.

“Lou?” Liam poked his head behind the curtain. “How are you doing?” His concerned, doting puppy dog eyes were half masked by the alcohol in his system, but Louis knew he was sincere.

“Good,” he said, only half-lying. “I’m just going to get ready for bed.”

Liam nodded once, a half-smile lighting his features. “Good night, then.”

“Night,” Louis repeated, before hopping down from the bunk and making his way to the bathroom.

Louis turned on the light in the tiny bathroom and faced his reflection in the mirror over the sink.  He never usually liked what he saw, but this time was worse than others. His blue eyes were rimmed darkly with gray, a result of very poor and random sleep patterns. His cheekbones were caving in, giving him a very gaunt appearance. Stress lines framed his lips and the corners of his eyes. He’d even broken out along his hairline, something that only happened from extreme strain. His neck and collarbones were much slimmer than usual, his weight loss evident in the way the skin clung to his every bump, giving him very sharp, angled edges. Louis turned his face away in shame, unable to look at himself for more than a few moments without feeling the urge to throw up. How could anyone admire him, how could anyone accept him as a role model when he looked like this? How could anyone find beauty in his face, in his eyes devoid of any emotion except self-hatred?

Louis slipped his hands below the waistband of his long-sleeved sleep shirt, feeling the rolls of flesh between his hands, clutching and tearing with his fingernails. A tear rolled down his cheek as he looked at his stomach in the mirror, hating the way it stuck out over his waistband. His hands shook as he pulled the skin away from his body, disgusted by the sight.

He was disgusting. No wonder Harry didn’t love him. No wonder he wasn’t wanted. No matter how hard he tried, he _couldn’t_ see what his fans saw, could not see anything of how he’d been described in the media within his features. He didn’t see a pixie-like face, or an elegant frame, or desirable curves. There was no twinkle in his tired blue eyes; at least, not any more. There were deeper demons, if he dared to delve within himself and bring them out. His insecurity about his singing, his unwillingness to come to terms with his sexuality, the dark thoughts that arose in the late hours of the night . . . they were heavy burdens he carried around with him everywhere, ones no one else could see.

~~~~~~

“ _Louis?_ ”

Louis awoke to a very concerned voice and a horrible crick in his neck. Blearily he opened his eyes and stared blankly for a minute at the bare legs across from him. That was odd, was he . . . on the floor? When he tilted his head up, a pair of dark shorts, a bare torso, and finally Zayn’s head came into view.

“Hey,” Louis said bleakly.

“What the hell are you doing on the floor, mate?” Zayn asked in a bewildered tone, holding his hand out for Louis to take. Louis stretched out his arm to take it, freezing when his sleeve came into his line of sight.

The wrist of Louis’ t-shirt was caked in dried blood, lines that ran horizontally across the fabric near his wrist. Zayn and Louis saw it at the same time, and Louis barely registered Zayn’s gasp of shock. With a shaking hand, Louis reached out and gently pulled the sticky cotton away from his skin, horrified by the raw, ragged flesh sliced through in horizontal lines. There was a small pool of blood on the floor on either side where his hands had been resting, like mirror images. Louis felt a flash of recognition pass through him like lightning, the horrific events of last night returning to him. He began to shake noticeably, horrified by the condition of his body. As he tremored he turned his head to the right and, sure enough, a bloodied razor blade lay by his side, glinting in the harsh fluorescent light. Louis could not utter a sound, so petrified and disgusted by what he had done. He could not look at the blood without feeling the urge to vomit, so he rested his head on the vanity cabinet and waited until Zayn returned with the rest of the boys.

Zayn must have said something to them beforehand, because they came into the room without a word, simply lending a hand to lift Louis from the floor. Niall pulled off his shirt gingerly, being careful around Louis’ wounds, some of which had reopened from stress. Liam pushed Louis’ sweatpants down and off his legs, and into the shower he went, zombie-like, completely still as his friends cleaned the blood from his skin. Through the haze, Louis felt Harry’s warm, wide hands pressing into his back, guiding him under the stream of steaming water.

“I’ve got him,” Harry said gently. Liam, Niall, and Zayn each in turn gave Louis sympathetic looks as they passed on the way out of the bathroom. Suddenly Louis was hyper-aware of his nakedness, and the awkward silence between them. He wanted to say something, to explain or to make an excuse, but words failed him. Harry, thankfully, stayed silent, lathering shampoo in Louis’ hair while also soaking himself. Too lost in thought for words, Louis hung his head and watched the red-tinted water swirl down the drain.

~~~~~~

“Hi, Louis. My name is Dr. Maxfield. “

Louis looked up from where he had been watching his hands very intently, focusing on the young female doctor who sat opposite him. She was pretty, he thought. Fleetingly, Louis wished he was attracted to her.

“I understand you’ve been having some thoughts lately. Would you like to tell me some of those thoughts?”

Louis tried very hard to resist rolling his eyes. Of course he had _thoughts_. Why did doctors insist on sugar-coating everything? She meant, _are you suicidal_? To that question, Louis didn’t have an answer.

“Well, I . . .”

“Do you want to talk about why you cut yourself?” She looked at him intently, a smile on her face that was supposed to be kind but came off as fake. Her pen was poised above her notepad, ready to copy down every word that came out of his mouth.

As soon as Louis had been showered and clothed, a medic was brought in to dress his cuts. He sat silent and stoic, a mixture of embarrassment and emptiness making it impossible for him to speak. The boys tried to talk to him, but he could not give them any answers to their questions. Louis did not have a why. That’s what they wanted. A reason. A reason he didn’t have.

After a few phone calls, it was assured that Louis would be admitted to a hospital under a pseudonym and placed under 72-hour watch. Of course, that wasn’t said to his face - they simply called it “observation” - but he knew. They wanted to assure that he wouldn’t off himself in the middle of the night. And as much as he appreciated their concern, he didn’t want to be babied. He could take care of himself.

Although, lately, he’s been doubting even that. His mind has been set on edge lately, brittle and unyielding, ready to snap at any given moment. Last night, he had a razor in his hand and he couldn’t prevent himself from running the blade across his skin, just to relish the physical pain of it. It had felt like a sort of rebellion, to cause harm to his body when his instincts told him not to. The only way to fight against everything oppressing him.

"I don't really know why," Louis said truthfully.

"There's always a reason." Dr. Maxfield made a note on her clipboard, which angered Louis for a reason he could not explain. "What's troubling you? Is it work, family, a relationship?"

Louis sighed audibly. She was going to force the truth out of him anyway, and she was bound by the confidentiality agreement. "It's...a boy."

Dr. Maxfield's eyebrows rose in surprise but the rest of her face remained expressionless. "Tell me about him."

"Well, he's tall, brown curly hair--"

"No, not a physical description. What about this boy made you want to harm yourself?"

The doctor's demeanor had turned rather icy, her bedside manner obviously not well-developed.

"Well, it's complicated, really. See, we used to be together, but because of our management we were forced to break up, and . . ."

Although not an ideal confidante, Louis found himself compelled to tell this doctor everything he could about his and Harry's "relationship." She wasn’t the best listener, and the constant scratch of her pen against the paper distracted him, but the words poured out of his mouth regardless. Maybe it was the surprisingly comfortable, stereotypical leather chaise he was sprawled out on, or maybe Louis just needed to prove to the shrink that he wasn’t crazy. After a while he moved on from the topic of Harry and spoke about his past girlfriends, his sisters, his mom, his bandmates. Some of it was nonsensical, random venting because he was overwhelmed with all these thoughts in his head that had been pent up for months on end, and other times he was completely silent, picking at the skin around his thumbnail. He was grateful to Dr. Maxfield only because she let him have these silences, instead of filling it with words Louis did not care about.

Dr. Maxfield fiddled with her hands, obviously reluctant to say whatever it is she was chewing on. “Louis . . .” she began hesitantly. “I would like to recommend that you be committed to St. Luke’s. I feel that it would benefit you to have regular therapy sessions and be in a safe environment where you can be . . .  monitored.”

Louis felt his heart in his throat. “I’m afraid that’s not an option, Doc,” he replied, his attempt at being flippant coming off weak. “Management would never go for it.”

“I understand your situation, Louis, I just feel that you would recover quickest in that sort of environment--”

“It doesn’t matter; I can’t abandon my bandmates. We’re in the middle of a tour.”

“I think distance could be exactly what you need--”

“I’m not leaving.”

Dr. Maxfield sighed, folding her arms across her chest. “Well, we need to work something out if I’m going to clear you. Who can I talk to about your situation?”

~~~~

The first time Louis saw his bandmates after he was hospitalized was the day they were called for an emergency meeting with Simon. He flew out to Paris where they were playing that night, and Simon gathered them all in his hotel suite. It was maybe the first time in his life Louis ever felt shy, but he was afraid to face his friends after the last time they had seen them. A car had picked him up from the airport that morning, and he was still tired and cranky from the flight. Each boy hugged Louis individually upon his entry, with the exception of Harry, who shook his hand. They both knew to be extra well-behaved around Simon.

Simon invited them to sit on the luxurious sofa, and they all carefully arranged ourselves so that Louis and Harry were sitting at opposite sides. It was so habitual now they barely thought about it anymore.

“Clearly there are some things we need to discuss guys.” He took a seat opposite the boys in a high-backed armchair. “First off, Louis, how are you feeling?”

“Better,” he said, rather timidly.

“I’m glad to hear that. Your doctor got in touch with me, and we discussed your situation for a long time. We’ve come up with a game plan that will best fit your circumstances. You won’t have to stop touring or take a hiatus from the band.”

“What are the terms?” An odd hope swelled in Louis.

“Bi-weekly sessions with Dr. Maxfield over the phone, for starters. In-person visits whenever possible. A dietician will tour with you full time to supervise your eating and overall well-being. I know it sounds like babysitting, but we believe it’s necessary.”

Louis nodded understandingly.

“There’s one last condition that Dr. Maxfield was very firm about, and we really had no choice but to consent. She insisted that you and Harry . . . not be kept apart anymore.”

Louis’ eyes widened considerably, and he felt his heart skip a beat. He risked a glance across at Harry, who had his mouth open, his cheeks reddening considerably.

“Dr. Maxfield said that your separation played a large part in your . . . sickness, Louis, and said it was crucial to your recovery that it end. We have no choice but to comply with her orders. The restraints on the two of you have been . . . lifted. _However_. We don’t feel like it’s the appropriate time for it to be announced to the whole world, so we ask that you don’t show anything other than brotherly affection in public and during concerts. We care about you getting better, Louis, and you don’t need what would inevitably be a scandal to deal with on top of it. Does that seem fair to you, Louis?”

“Yes sir,” he said quietly, heat creeping into his cheeks.

“Very well then. We’ll go over your therapy schedule as soon as it’s faxed over; in the meanwhile, enjoy Paris before your show tonight.” With a wink at Louis, he strode out of the room.

Liam let out a long, loud breath. No one dared to look at one another. Louis found himself circling his right wrist with the long, skinny fingers on his left hand, and a smile twisting up his face. His shackles were gone. He was free. But there was still a heavy weight on his chest. He looked to Harry, and felt the pressure squeeze around his heart.

Finally he stood, and the four other boys immediately stood with him, their arms reaching out to him, their hands on his shoulders, patting his back. They said they were proud of him, they loved him, they were here for him. But the only person Louis could focus on was Harry, silent, close-lipped, a small smile and hooded eyes the only indicators of his emotions.

“Um, guys?” Louis said timidly. “Could you give Harry and me a minute?”

“Sure man,” Niall said, slapping on the back once more before filing out with the other boys.

Once they were alone, Louis found that he could not look Harry in the eye. Everything he had been meaning to tell him, the apologies and the confessions, stuck in his throat. He’d thought so much about what he would say to him if this situation ever arose, and now that he was living it, he could not face him. They had been separated, so little contact for so long, that Louis didn’t know how to be alone with him.

He felt a hand on his cheek, and looked up to see Harry’s glittering green eyes flashing before him, half-hidden behind batting eyelids as he failed to hold back tears. In the next moment he was caught up in Harry’s long limbs, Harry’s face burrowed into his neck. Louis clutched on to him for dear life, and with each second that passed Louis felt surer, safer, better. He was allowed to touch him, to stroke his hair, to hold him close. Harry accepted him, for all his flaws and shortcomings.

Harry pulled away hesitantly, still keeping his arms around Louis to support him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see,” Harry whispered, voice raspy with emotion. He moved his hands up and down Louis’ arms, his eyes filling with tears. “I should have seen you and I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Harry,” Louis choked out. “Please, don’t be sorry. I shut you out, I pushed you away. How could you have seen?” He lifted Harry’s chin slightly until their eyes met. “That wasn’t me. This is me, now. Standing in front of you. And I know you see me now.”

“I could have helped you-”

“No, Harry, you couldn’t have. It wasn’t your battle, it was mine. I fought through it. I’m _okay._ ” He felt Harry searching his eyes for the truth. “Really,” he answered, silencing Harry’s misgivings. Harry nodded, once, and Louis felt him squeeze his wrists tightly.

“May I see?” he asked, his voice broken and rough.

Louis shook his head. “What do you mean-?”

“Your scars.” Harry’s voice made Louis’ breath catch. The scars Louis created on himself were not things he was proud of, not something he wanted Harry to see.

But, Harry had already seen. Harry saw him the way no one else could. Louis held out his arms, and Harry very delicately dragged his sleeves so they gathered in folds around his elbows. They glistened palely in the flourescent light, crisscrossing against his tan skin, marring some of his tattoos. Louis couldn’t help feeling bitterly disappointed, in how far he had let himself go, in how deep his sickness had gone.

Louis looked up when he heard Harry take a loud, gasping breath, his eyes tearing and his cheeks wet. Harry fell to the floor unceremoniously, hands clasped tight around Louis’ waist, his head tucked into his hip. His shoulders shook, his sobs were staccato and broken.

“I thought,” he stuttered. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

Louis let out a bark of humorless laughter. “I made these scars because I thought I had lost _you_.”

~~~

The show that night was the best night of Louis’ life. For the first time in a long time, he actually felt something other than dread onstage; he felt _alive_. He felt the energy of every person in that room who came to see him. He smiled, he sang, he interacted with the fans, pointing and waving and blowing kisses. The fans’ reactions were audible; even they could see the improvement in his behavior. He felt every lyric of their songs that night, more than ever before; maybe it was just because he had gotten the love of his life back. Although he had been warned against it, he could not help but sing directly to Harry every chance he got. Louis was _feeling_ something, and he wasn’t going to let that slip away.

The very moment the boys bounded backstage after their last song, Louis immediately sought out Harry and planted a kiss directly on his lips, in front of everyone, just because he could. Niall whistled at them, and Liam muttered something about getting a room, but Louis knew his friends were happy for them.

“Do you want to go out tonight?” Niall asked them as they made their way back to the dressing rooms. “We don’t have a show tomorrow, so I’m thinking about getting wasted.”

Louis looked at Harry, who was biting his lip, a hesitant look in his eyes. “Actually,” Louis cut in, “I think Harry and I are just going to stay in tonight.”

Niall seemed oblivious to this comment, but Liam visibly crinkled his nose. “Just . . . take the single tonight if you’re gonna do that, yeah? We don’t need to walk in on that.” He offered up his hotel keycard to the pair.

“Got it,” Louis replied with a smile and an eyebrow quirk, taking the card and slipping it into his pocket. “Coming?” he asked behind him to a wide-eyed Harry, who swallowed dryly and nodded.

The boys changed and sat together for a while, talking and laughing, and the mood was the most upbeat it had been in a long time. Louis could feel the others glancing at him every once in a while, when he made a joke or laughed at someone else’s, as if they could not believe he was really okay. Louis made sure he was sat next to Harry, and held his hand constantly, as if to make sure he didn’t lose him again. Louis was still recovering, but he finally had the medicine that was capable of making him better, and that was Harry.

After a few hours, they all went their separate ways - Liam and Niall took a car to find a good club, Zayn decided to spend the night with Perrie, and Louis and Harry made their way back to the hotel.

As soon as they arrived at Liam’s - now their - room, Louis swiped the keycard and pushed the door open immediately. This was probably all he wanted in his life. He and Harry, alone, in a room with a bed and a TV and a refrigerator. He would never leave if he didn’t need to.

He turned around to look at Harry, who was scuffing his right boot sheepishly against the carpet.

“You okay?” Louis asked gently.

Harry snapped his head up to look at him. “Oh, yeah, fine. Just . . . give me like ten minutes to take a shower? I’m still sweaty from the show.”

“Harry,” Louis began tentatively. “You know that nothing has to, you know, _happen_ tonight, right? I just wanted the single from Liam so we could have some time together. Are you not okay with that?”

“No, no,” Harry said, shaking his head. “That’s not what I was thinking at all. Of course I _want_ \- I mean, I just . . . I didn’t know about you, and I was worried-”

“Harry?” Louis interjected with a smile. “Just go take a shower.”

Harry paused for a second, then smiled. “Okay.” He took off his green Burberry coat, the one that made his eyes stand out, the one that Louis loved, and headed to the bathroom.

Louis sat on the mattress, listening as Harry turned the shower on, listening as the water fell. He closed his eyes, soaking in the sound, and feeling the cool air around him. He felt it now, he realized. Truly felt like he would be okay. From the lowest point to the highest cloud, now, Louis was soaring.

He stayed like that, still, thinking, until Harry emerged from the shower in just a pair of silky black boxer shorts, with a towel in his hand to dry his hair.

“Uh,” he said awkwardly. “I didn’t have any clothes to change into-”

“That’s okay,” Louis said sincerely. “You don’t need them.”

Maintaining eye contact with Harry, Louis stood, so there was just a few feet of space between them. Wordlessly, Louis lifted his own shirt up and off his body, landing on the floor by his feet. Shyly, his fingers went to his belt buckle, fumbling around as he tried to undo it, followed by the buttons on the fly of his jeans. He watched as Harry stared, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. Louis pushed his jeans off his hips until they pooled at his feet. He kicked them off and then lifted his arms to Harry - an invitation.

Harry stepped forward slightly, still hesitant.

“Look, I can tell you have reservations about anything . . . happening,” Louis began, reaching out until he could grab Harry’s hands. He gulped, trying to find the words he needed. “And I don’t really think that I’m ready to do _that_ , at least not quite yet. My mind is still jumbled and I’m still on medication from the doctor, so I don’t totally feel like myself.” He chanced a look at Harry’s face, and the gentle smile he encountered was all he needed to continue. “Maybe we could put off the - ahem - _naughty_ stuff, and tonight, you know, just . . .”

“Be with each other?” Harry finished. Louis nodded, nerves creeping up like ice in his chest, making him shiver and shake. The chills abated slightly at Harry’s warm expression. “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

“Really?” Louis couldn’t help but light up. It was still a foreign concept to him that Harry loved him, and accepted him.

“Anything for you,” Harry replied. Louis rolled his eyes at the statement, but Harry nodded in earnest. “I know it’s cheesy, but I mean it.” There was slight hesitation in his eyes, and Louis knew he was mentally preparing himself to say something. “You’ve come such a long way . . .” His voice broke, emotion blocking his throat, but he continued anyway. “You always thought you were the least handsome one in the group, the one with the weakest singing voice, the least in-shape one. And no matter how much we told you, how much the _fans_ told you that wasn’t true, I don’t think you believed anything different. I saw your insecurities eat you alive, and it killed me to see it happen. And then the two of us were ripped apart, and I could see how bad you started to fall. I saw it, and didn’t want to believe it. I was- I was so _far away_ from you, physically and mentally. And when I did reach out to you, you pushed me away, and with good reason. Sometimes-” Harry broke off. “Sometimes my hands would actually shake with anger, because all I would want to do was hold your hand when you were sad and I couldn’t even do _that_. So I got angry instead of reaching out to you. And when you finally snapped, no one could blame you. I . . . I blamed myself.” Harry hung his head, his damp locks falling over his face. “I should have done _something_ to help you, and instead I just stood by while you-”

“Harry.” Louis spoke jaggedly, Harry’s kindness squeezing his heart. “Please, love. What happened to me was on _me_ , and no one else. I shut everyone out because I didn’t want them to get hurt. I knew I was self-destructing. I wanted the collateral damage to be as minimal as possible.” Louis paused, watching Harry intently, the way he moved, the way he breathed. “I don’t know what I ever did in my life,” he whispered roughly, shaking his head slightly. Harry caught his eyes and held his gaze, listening as if his life hung on every word Louis spoke. “I don’t deserve you, Harry. I never did. I probably never will. But I’m glad you’re here now.”

Harry, with tears falling on his cheeks, pressed his lips to Louis’, eliminating the space between them. His hands went behind Louis’ head and knotted into his hair, and Louis tasted the saltwater that intermingled with their kiss. It was a kiss of endings, of saying goodbye to the chains that once kept them apart. It was a kiss of freedom, something they felt in every cell of their bodies. It was a weightless kiss that made Louis’ stomach swoop and Harry’s palms tingle. It was a kiss of promises for a future they could now have together. It was a kiss that mended everything broken in Louis.

When they finally parted, it was because Louis had to stifle a yawn. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, glancing at Harry sheepishly.

“Tired?” Harry asked. It had been a _very_ long day, and it was nearing 2 am, surely.

“Yes,” Louis admitted, laying back and sinking into the warmth of the bed beneath him.

Harry climbed into bed and aligned his body with Louis. He slipped his hand into Louis’ so their fingers intertwined. “Goodnight,” he muttered.

“Harry?” Louis piped up. “Could you . . . I mean, do you think you could-”

“What, Lou?”

“Um, hold me as I sleep? It’s been hard for me to sleep, lately.”

Harry, with a tenderness in his eyes that almost hurt, pulled Louis close to him, arranging the duvet so it covered the both of him.

“Love you, Haz,” Louis murmured, adjusting his head on the pillow.

He felt a soft kiss against the nape of his neck. “Love you more.”

Louis, with the heat and comfort of Harry’s body pressed against his back, drifted off in his arms.

****  
  



	2. *Alternate Ending*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an alternate ending to 'make me skin and bones'. it is nsfw. enjoy.

Louis sat on the mattress, listening as Harry turned the shower on, listening as the water fell. He closed his eyes, soaking in the sound, and feeling the cool air around him. He felt it now, he realized. Truly felt like he would be okay. From the lowest point to the highest cloud, now, Louis was soaring.

He stayed like that, still, thinking, until Harry emerged from the shower in just a pair of silky black boxer shorts, with a towel in his hand to dry his hair.

“Uh,” he said awkwardly. “I didn’t have any clothes to change into-”

“That’s okay,” Louis said sincerely. “You don’t need them.”

Maintaining eye contact with Harry, Louis stood, so there was just a few feet of space between them. Wordlessly, Louis lifted his own shirt up and off his body, landing on the floor by his feet. Shyly, his fingers went to his belt buckle, fumbling around as he tried to undo it, followed by the buttons on the fly of his jeans. He watched as Harry stared, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. Louis pushed his jeans off his hips until they pooled at his feet. He kicked them off and then lifted his arms to Harry - an invitation.

Harry stepped forward slightly, still hesitant.

"Harry," Louis said, his voice resonating in the empty room. "Please."

The verbal permission must have been what Harry needed, because he immediately walked forward and caught Louis up in his embrace, sitting him back on the mattress and standing between his legs. Harry’s large hand caught Louis’ face and held it for a moment, staring into those beautiful cerulean eyes, so filled with desire and want.

“Kiss me,” Louis whispered, so Harry did. Their lips met in a collision, a hunger that had been long hidden now fueling their actions. Louis sunk his teeth into Harry’s lip and Harry licked across Louis’ cupid’s bow. Their hands pressed against each other’s hot skin, slipping and sliding and clutching tightly. Harry’s hands found their way under the waistband of Louis’ underwear, grasping wildly, making Louis gasp into his mouth. Harry pushed Louis backward until he was on his back and Harry had gotten his legs on the bed. Harry pulled away from Louis’ lips only long enough to stare into his shining eyes as he slowly, deliberately rocked his hips into the smaller boy’s. The friction was electric, not quite what they both needed but enough to make them buzz. They breathed heavily into each other’s mouths, each touch of lips and tongue more thrilling than the last.

“Yes?” Harry managed to sputter, pupils blown wide from pleasure as he continued to grind down against Louis.

Louis could not do more than give him an enthusiastic nod, sweet tremors already tightening his body.

"Can I-” Harry began, searching Louis’ eyes, but Louis already knew what he was thinking.

"Fuck, Harry, yes,” he managed to groan, hands groping the bedsheets above his head. “I might die if you don’t.”

Harry gave Louis a somewhat-chaste kiss to the lips, quirking his mouth into a smirk before reaching under Louis and pulling off his boxers. Harry paused for a moment, his eyes resting on Louis’ body, and Louis squirmed under his gaze. Harry ran his fingertips up and down Louis’ hips lightly, circling but not touching the place Louis most needed.

“Are you gonna make me beg?” Louis asked, his hands intertwined with the bedsheets. Harry only smiled, and Louis sighed. “Fuck, Haz, please.”

Never breaking eye-contact, Harry reached down and took Louis into his hand, gently at first, but stroked harder as Louis’ moans egged him on. Harry sat back on Louis’ knees, stroking Louis with one hand, two fingers of the other hand in his mouth, sucking and licking on them obscenely.

“I sincerely hope,” Louis managed to sputter, “those fingers are going in my arse.”

Harry almost choked himself at his comment, but smiled around his fingers regardless. He moved his fingers to circle around Louis’ hole, the moans he elicited going straight to his own cock. Harry replaced his hand on Louis with his mouth, easily taking him to the back of his throat, and Louis bit his lip to muffle his moan. Harry sucked hard just as he added the first finger, pushing it in slowly, watching Louis the whole time. Louis’ eyelids fluttered as he was nearly overcome by pleasure/pain. When Louis finally nodded, Harry added a second finger, moving them slowly in time with his mouth on Louis’ cock. Louis moaned louder, and Harry put his free hand on his stomach to prevent him from bucking his hips.

“Harry,” Louis whispered brokenly. “Fuck me.”

Harry pulled off Louis’ cock with a pop. “I just need . . .” He looked around the room, lost.

“What?” Louis whispered, propping himself on his elbows.

“A condom,” Harry said, wincing slightly.

“Maybe Liam has one in his bag?” Louis proposed, but his voice was deflated.

“There’s no way I’d _dare_ going through Liam’s things, especially not naked.”

“Shit,” Louis muttered. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of it.”

Harry covered Louis’ frown with his own mouth. “Shhh, don’t be too sad. We can still have fun without one.” His mouth quirked up, and his eyes were hopeful as he stared down at Louis.

“God, do I love you,” Louis muttered. And time froze.

Sure, Louis had said it to Harry before, when they were still together, but that was ages ago. And maybe Louis had felt it every day since then, but saying it out loud was something altogether different. Harry’s eyes locked with his own.

“Really?” Harry whispered.

Louis, suddenly very self-conscious and aware of how naked he was, nodded minutely. “Yeah, of course.”

A grin stretched over Harry’s face as he knocked Louis over onto his back once more, bestowing a kiss upon his lips. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear you say that.” Harry placed more kisses to Louis’ cheeks, ears, eyelids. “You know I love you too, right?” His gaze was so earnest and fragile, Louis felt his heart break a little. He’d never seen someone as beautiful in his life as Harry was to him at that moment.

“I do now,” Louis replied with a smile, his hand coming up to stroke Harry’s hair. Louis’ heart had never felt fuller.

“So, um,” Harry began awkwardly. “Where do we go from here?”

With a sneaky quirk of the mouth, Louis seized Harry’s arms and flipped him onto his back. He stared down at the taller boy triumphantly before crashing his mouth into Harry’s, a messy kiss of teeth and flicking tongues. It was long, filthy, and left the pair completely out of breath. Louis ground his hips down into Harry’s, who gave a sharp cry.

“Fuck, Lou,” Harry gasped, his fingers clutching at Louis’ biceps. “Don’t stop.”

“Not planning on it,” Louis murmured, shaking at the friction between his cock and Harry’s boxers.

With a surge of _need_ to have Harry naked beneath him, Louis ripped the boxers down his legs and took Harry’s cock into his hand, tugging hard. Harry’s upper body jerked up, his breathing labored. Louis could tell he was already close.

“Come for me,” Louis whispered, stroking him faster. Harry’s hand came up behind Louis’ head to pull him in for a kiss, and Harry gasped Louis’ name against his own lips as he came. Louis felt Harry’s body shudder against his own as he worked him down from his orgasm with gentle strokes.

Harry eventually nodded against Louis’ shoulder, and Louis let him go, still holding him close.

“Fuck,” Harry eventually breathed, a low rattling sound. He pulled back and Louis looked into his eyes. Shockingly he found a surprisingly amount of tenderness. It was quickly replaced, however, with a mischievous look, and Harry’s face stretched up into a devious grin. “Your turn,” he said.

Before Louis could respond, Harry had Louis’ cock back in his mouth, a finger already wiggled inside him. Louis moaned, low and long, as he rested his hand in Harry’s curls. He moved his hips gently, enjoying the feeling of Harry’s expert tongue moving along his length. Within minutes Louis was a shuddering mess, with two fingers in his ass and the pressure of Harry’s mouth on his cock.

“Harry, I’m gonna-” he tried, pulling at Harry’s head to warn him, but Harry only clamped on tighter, his fingers working in and out of Louis, curling up just slightly . . .

With a loud cry of Harry’s name, Louis’ hips bucked up and he was spilling into the back of Harry’s throat. With shaking hands he was finally able to pull Harry off, who looked at him with a grin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis said in disbelief. He shook his head, pulling him in for a long kiss. “It’s been so long since I’ve felt like that. Thank you.” Their lips met again, sweet and chaste. Louis broke the kiss to yawn, exhaustion itching his eyes.

“Tired?” Harry asked. It had been a very long day, and it was nearing 2 am, surely.

“Yes,” Louis admitted, laying back and sinking into the warmth of the bed beneath him.

Harry climbed into bed and aligned his body with Louis. He slipped his hand into Louis’ so their fingers intertwined. “Goodnight,” he muttered.

“Harry?” Louis piped up. “Could you . . . I mean, do you think you could-”

“What, Lou?”

“Um, hold me as I sleep? It’s been hard for me to sleep, lately.”

Harry, with a tenderness in his eyes that almost hurt, pulled Louis close to him, arranging the duvet so it covered the both of him.

“Love you, Haz,” Louis murmured, adjusting his head on the pillow.

He felt a soft kiss against the nape of his neck. “Love you more.”

Louis, with the heat and comfort of Harry’s body pressed against his back, drifted off in his arms.

****  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that there was some overlap between this ending and the original...and while this wasn't nearly as touchy-feely, I wrote the smutty ending first and decided to forego it in favor of the more emotional one, but I thought the scene was quality enough that I didn't want it to just go to waste unread. Hope you enjoyed, thank you so much for reading! xo

**Author's Note:**

> Title and inspiration taken from the song 'Skin and Bones' by Marianas Trench.
> 
> Come to say hi on **[tumblr](https://stylslou.tumblr.com)** if you wish :)


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